


You're My (Snow) Angel

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, Humanstuck, M/M, POV First Person, Romance, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 23:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: It's the first time that it has snowed since Dave and Karkat have moved into their new house, and Dave is quick to pull Karkat out of bed for some winter fun - and a couple firsts, too.For my lovely boyfriend. To many more winters together, my love.Re-uploaded with a new title after proofreading.





	You're My (Snow) Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“Holy shit. Babe. Babe. _Babe_!”

I push on Karkat’s shoulder from beside the bed, shaking him – not roughly, but with enough excitement that he bats my hand out of the way as he stirs, groaning. He rolls over, pulling the quilt with him. It’s tangled around one of his legs, and he stretches, looking at me with half-lidded, sleepy eyes.

He’s cute as hell like this, and if I wasn’t so enthused, I would’ve reconsidered jumping out of bed earlier. Mornings are one of my favorite parts of our days, I think; not that I would ever have to pick. There’s just something about the fresh daylight on his face, watching him rise like the sun all on his own, look at me with a warmth in his eyes so pure it melts my heart.

“Oh my god, Dave, _what the fuck_ ,” he demands, running a hand through his messy hair – which is even messier than usual, as laced with sleep as his voice, which is a gravelly mumble. Adorable.

I’m grinning, feeling the absolute thrill in my head rushing through my fingers and toes. I get down on my knees, planting my elbows in the sheets and resting my chin in my hands. I’m eye-level with him, now, and he gives me an incredulous look; one I know and love. Both of his eyebrows fly up, his mouth twitching into a surprised by loving smirk.

“What’s got you all riled up?” he asks, before prodding my shoulder, “and when the hell did you leave bed?”

I shoot up, letting out a sort of excited squeak, pointing out of the bedroom, and he gives a startled laugh.

“Really? Tell me more.”

Offering a sort of awkward cough, I rub the back of my neck. I can feel my face heating up.

“I woke up, and it was cold, and I had to piss, so I went to go use the bathroom, and I was thinking to myself – is it cold enough for a guy to get his sled on? To bring Frosty back from his untimely, watery grave? So I went to the bathroom, but on the way I stopped at the window, ‘cause you know how we got that sliding door that doesn’t really lock before you get to the bathroom, and I looked out the window, and, babe, you _have_ to see it.”

“It snowed?” he asks, and I see his face light up. He knows what that means.

“It snowed!” I confirm, reaching out a hand. He takes it, letting me pull him out of bed. I drag him into a hug, tucking my head into his neck. I read online, once, that there’s something special about smelling someone you love. That, for some reason, you love the smell of their sweat, of the left-over sleep in their skin when they wake up in the morning. It wasn’t really something I ever considered until I met Karkat. There’s nothing like his scent; it smells like love, like happiness, and like home.

“I didn’t get to see it with you,” he mutters into my hair, rubbing a circle on the bare skin of my back. I pull back a little, kissing his nose and pressing our foreheads together.

“It’s okay,” I reply, pinching one of his cheeks tenderly, “it’s not like I went outside.”

He makes a face.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“For your information, I was waiting for you to haul ass out of bed. Also, we should probably eat breakfast.”

“One, fuckface, I am already out of bed, _clearly_. Secondly, you can make yourself goddamn breakfast. You aren’t four years old.”

I link our hands together, choking down a breathy laugh and rolling my eyes.

“I wanted to make it together.”

Karkat scoffs, but his expression softens a little when our gazes meet again. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at me; a rich brown I could fall into. They’re a window to somewhere inside of him where I see us together, smiling and laughing. His stare that seems to have laid out a welcome mat when he looks at me, inviting me inside, asking me to stay a while.

 “What do you want to make?” he asks me, running his thumb over my scarred knuckles.

“Pancakes,” I announce, “no, wait. Waffles. No – popo. No! Hm.”

“Indecisive idiot,” Karkat flicks my forehead. I stick my tongue out at him.

“Correction – _your_ indecisive idiot.”

“Oh, great. Love that,” he pulls away a little, and I can’t help how I try and move closer to him. There’s nothing like being close to him; feeling his warmth, the weight of his arms around me. Being held by him is one of my most favorite feelings in the whole goddamn world.

Before we lived together, on nights when I was scared, I’d imagine him holding me. Now, I don’t have to imagine anymore. The thought makes my throat feel thick.

“I have a proposition,” he announces, stretching as he walks over to the closet.

“And that is?”

“As much as I’m a huge fan of a fucking fancy-ass homemade breakfast, what about poptarts? Then we can get outside faster.”

“Deal.”

Karkat actually gets dressed and ready; he has more of a ritual than I do. I brush my teeth with him but skip any skin-care shit – which is probably why I still have terrible acne – and throw on a thick pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt that nearly fits me in length but not at all in capacity. It’s far too baggy, but the sleeves don’t quite reach my wrists. Karkat and I bought it at some sketchy shirt stand outside of a concert. The decal is very butchered, and just says “WHY” in the center with a picture of the bee from _The Bee Movie_ behind it. A real catch, this sweatshirt.

Karkat is wearing a t-shirt I bought him and a flannel with a pair of jeans. A real catch he is, as well.

We eat poptarts and after Karkat wrestles me into drinking a glass of water instead of two glasses of whole milk, it’s time to go outside.

That being said, some elaboration is needed on the importance of this day.

A while back, Karkat and I met online. We lived a long distance from one another; him in New York and me in Texas. The lives both of us led kind of sucked, but we had a lot of promise and a fuck ton of hope. After hauling ass back and forth to see each other over and over, I got enough money to leave my brother’s shitty apartment in Texas and he and I got a place in New York.

But, with dreams to pursue and not a ton in-pocket, we ended up moving to bumble-fuck nowhere after we found steady jobs, in a little house with an actual backyard. We went from texting every day and daydreaming of a future that seemed eons away, to sleeping in the same bed every night, picking out carpets together, and making a decorated coin jar for vacations. His art and my photography lines our walls. I have a little fish-tank that’s my pride and joy, and he has a whole room for sewing, drawing, and writing.

The point of today, though, has less to do with what we did and more to do with _where_ we did it. You see, growing up in Houston, Texas, I never really got to see snow. It was something on TV, in magazines – but nothing I’d ever dream of experiencing myself.

When Karkat and I moved into the city, it snowed a couple times – but never stuck – because of the urban heat island. I’ve seen snowflakes, felt the cold, but I haven’t ever really experienced the kind of snow that Karkat described to be, having grown up outside of the city.

Today would change that.

“Put on a fucking hat and gloves, dumbass, if you catch a cold I’m not taking care of you,” Karkat orders, shoving a plastic bin in my direction. It’s full of assorted hats, gloves, and scarves. I pick out some stuff, not really paying much attention to what matches – whatever colors made me happy to see.

I find my coat, pulling it on over my hoodie and zipping it up. I t-pose at Karkat, cackling when he rolls his eyes and chucks a mitten at me, grumbling under his breath.

“I’m gonna be stuck in a t-pose with all these layers,” I exclaim, kicking on my boots.

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat grabs my hand – it’s strange, holding hands with gloves on – pulling me to the door. As we head outside, the cold air hits me fast and hard, despite my clothes. It seems to strike right through all my layers. I shiver, shifting closer to Karkat.

“It’s cold,” I mutter, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“We haven’t even left the porch,” he responds flatly.

I nudge his shoulder with my nose, and he snorts, squeezing my hand. After a moment, I raise my head, looking out at our yard. Our whole front lawn is covered in a thick layer of snow, including the pathway to our porch. Snow has even gathered on the top of our fenceposts. It’s untouched, like a shimmering, blank canvas.

“Woah,” I mutter. I can feel Karkat smiling at me.

“Come on,” he tugs me down into the yard. The snow crunches when I step into it. It comes up to my mid-calf. I reach down, taking some in my glove. It seeps through the yarn and makes my fingers sting.

“Hey, Dave!”

I look up, immediately getting nailed in the face with a snowball. I scrunch up my nose, wiping the water from my face with my sleeve. When I open my eyes, Karkat is grinning at me, backing himself further into the yard.

It’s a miracle the snow isn’t melting with him out here, smiling like that. Seeing it is like staring into the warmth of the sun.

We spend an hour outside, fucking around in the snow. We have a snowball fight, Karkat pushes me down and I can’t get up because of the sheer size of my coat, we make snow angels – hell, he even humors me and we build a snowman. I stick my shades on it, and we make a nose out of a dildo. It’s fucking hilarious, and when I put it on Karkat’s snap story, he only pushes me down twice.

When it gets too cold, the two of us head back inside. We hang up our things and haul our shivering asses back into the kitchen.

I lean against the counter, rubbing my arms.

“Can we turn on the fucking heat or something? I’m gonna turn into a Dave-sicle.”

Karkat walks over, tugging me into a hug.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, running a hand through my hair. I lean into him, sighing. He’s always so warm – physically, yeah, but that’s not all I mean. He carries a sort of caring warmth to him, always; a radiance that seeps through my skin and into my soul. Sometimes, I think, if you look hard enough, you can see it. A sort of light that follows him wherever he goes, even if he’s just on your mind.

He pulls me into a kiss, effectively derailing my train of thought. It’s short and sweet; a chaste reminder of his affection. It makes my heart flutter a little.

“Let’s make hot cocoa,” he says, looping his arms around my waist, “we can put in a movie or something.”

“Transformers?” I suggest.

“Ugh, what? I hate that movie,” he frowns at me, pulling his arms back to cross them over his chest.

“Exactly,” I wink.

He groans.

“Grab the fucking cocoa out of the cupboard.”

“Will do,” I turn around, reaching into the cabinet and searching for the cocoa. We have a lot of assorted teas, just stuff we’ve collected over the time we’ve been in the house, and the shelves are getting a little crowded. Eventually, though, I find some kind of cocoa. It’s not the stuff I’m used to; the little packets you rip open. No, it’s in a big metal cylinder. Starbucks brand. Fancy.

“When did we buy this?” I slam the cabinet shut, walking over to where Karkat is standing at the kettle.

“Hm?” he turns, shrugging, “Oh, that. I think it was an anniversary gift from Rose and Kanaya.”

“That’s nice,” I yawn, stretching.

“You’re nice,” he retorts, “shitweasel.”

When the cocoa is finally ready, we make ourselves comfortable on the couch, which is covered in Karkat and I’s finest selection of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. I curl up next to him, shoving my face into his neck. Rather than sticking a shit movie into the DVD player, we opted to just put on the Hallmark channel – romance enough for Karkat to not mind but shit enough that I can entice him to kiss me instead.

I shove aside a pillow, angling my head up towards his.

Getting the picture, he takes me by the chin and pulls me into a kiss. Unlike the last one, it deepens. I find myself trying to press impossibly closer to him, his arms snaking around me. Our lips move together with a delicate precariousness that melts quickly into rough passion, before slipping back into some sort of tenderness. It trades off, a gentle action turning into his teeth scraping my bottom lip.

I roll my hips into him and he pulls me into his lap. We break for air, and I’m gasping. I can hear the TV behind me, its volume turned down so low that the actors’ voices are whispers. The light from the screen that isn’t blocked by my head glints in Karkat’s eyes.

“I love you,” I say, with the strength of a confession and the depth of a promise.

He smiles at me – that radiant, gorgeous smile.

“I love you too, sunshine,” he replies.

Looking at him – his cheeks flushed, hair messy, a smile spread across his face, crinkles forming around his eyes from his happiness – I see so much more than I ever thought I’d see in a person. The promise of an eternity, the warmth of a thousand stars, all the beauty and light and love in the world all wrapped into one man. It was as if everything beautiful – everything that ever came to be that possesses even an ounce of beauty – was created just so he could be compared to it.

He runs a hand down my cheek.

“Thank you,” I say, full of feelings without words and words without enough feelings.

Karkat just shakes his head and pulls me into another kiss.


End file.
